Perfection
by madeleine68
Summary: Alex tries so hard to be perfect, but sometimes she can't quite manage it. How can someone like her fall so fast into an impossible love? A/O THE FINAL CHAPTER IS UP! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry, I know this beginning is really, really short and I apologize. I'm on vacation in Italy with my parents for their anniversary/my birthday trip and I had this idea while climbing a mountain and I just **_**had **_**to write it. (That's how I know my daddy loves me – he spent ten Euros to get me a pen and paper so I could jot down my ideas when we got to the top. They RIP YOU OFF here just because they can!)**

**So yeah, Internet is slightly complicated here and it's slow and costs a lot of money, so I'll be back on Friday and I'll update when I can.**

I'm strutting down Fifth Avenue with my head held high. My sunglasses are perched "just so" on my head, but they fall for what must be the hundredth time and cover my eyes. My head is simply not flat enough for this to work. I give up the fight even though it's considered "fashionable" to use sunglasses as a makeshift headband. Looking chic may be easy for some people – Olivia often comments, with a tinge of envy creeping into her voice, that _I _make it look effortless – but in reality, for me, it's a constant struggle.

I tuck a strand of my long blonde hair behind my ear. It takes me an hour to flat iron it every morning. I don't understand how looking perfect comes so easily to some people, like my mother, when I have to work so hard at it.

I readjust my Valentino handbag on my shoulder and mutter, "See, Mom. I told you I could do it."

But I haven't. Not really. This is _her _world, not mine, and it always has been. Being perfect is second nature to her, while it's a conscious, strenuous effort for me, something I have to be aware of every single second of every single day so people don't see past the façade that is Alex Cabot. My mother always wanted me to grow up and be a successful, prestigious lawyer. In that, at least, I've succeeded, but not in the way she wanted.

I feel my cell phone vibrating. I take it out of my purse and press it t my ear. "Cabot."

"Alexandra, are you on your way?"

Shit, I'm not. It's our tradition (read: torture) for my parents and I to get together for dinner every Saturday night. I've been so busy this week that I totally forgot.

I briefly wonder what my mother would do if I just said, "Sorry, Mom. I can't make it tonight. Go find someone else to entertain (read: bore) for three hours."

I reject this idea as quickly as it arrives and instead do what she expects of me. Raising my hand to hail a cab, I say, "Yes, Mother. I'm on my way.'

* * *

I remember being seven years old and going shopping with my mother on the Upper East Side. I noticed a homeless man sitting on the curb. His clothes were ragged, his face unshaven, his hair scraggly. But he was playing the flute and boy, could he play! I was so enraptured that I let go of my mother's hand and wandered over to him. He smiled at me and I smiled back. I pulled a dollar bill out of my coat and dropped it in him music case, using up the money I'd gotten as a reward for being good that weekend, money I'd been looking forward to spending on sour Skittles.

I stood there, closed my eyes, and let the music transport me to a faraway land – to India or Arabia. I'd never been to either of those places but I'd read about them in stories, and they seemed magical.

But then I felt a tug on my arm and was transported back to reality. My mother yanked my wrist and dragged me away. "Don't you ever run away from me again!" she hissed in my ear. "And don't go near those filthy beggars. They'll rob you, Alexandra – or worse." She shuddered and crossed herself like the good Catholic she was.

Stepping out of my taxi, I notice a homeless man shivering on the steps. He's staring at the ground, not daring to make eye contact with someone like me, so far above him in every way.

I think of my mother and deliberately pull a twenty dollar bill out of my pocket and press it into his hand. "Here," I tell him. "It's cold out here. Go buy yourself a nice hot meal tonight."

I wait for his smile and give him one in return. I'm sure my own looks as awkward as his does, as if it's a muscle neither of us has used in a long time.

"Thank you, ma'am," he whispers, no doubt wondering why someone like me, who has it all, would be so kind to someone like him, who has nothing. Why I don't fear him like most so-called "respectable" people.

But as I turn to hurry off, so as not to be late for dinner with my mother, I think maybe we're not so different, him and me.

**Review for more!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I was sort of uninspired but now I got my muse back, so enjoy and review!**

I knock on the door to my parents' house. The housekeeper, Liana, answers the door and her face breaks into a smile when she sees me. "Alex!"

She's so glad to see me that it's almost as if it's been six months since I was last here rather than one week. She's been our housekeeper since I was a baby, and we were always close.

Liana steps aside to let me in. "Your parents are in the sitting room," she tells me.

I nod. "Thank you, Liana."

Bracing myself, I make my way to the sitting room. The entire house is eerily silent except for the soft footsteps of the maid on the stairs, carrying a laundry hamper up to my parents' room. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I run a hand through my hair, satisfied that not one strand is out of place. Standing up as straight as possible, I walk into the room.

My mother is sitting on the couch, reading a novel, while my father leafs through his newspaper in an armchair. He notices me first and takes off his reading glasses, folding them and setting them on the desk next to him. "Alex," he greets me, his face spreading into a slow smile as he holds out his arms. "It's so nice to see you!"

I give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "It's good to see you, too, Dad."

My mother looks up from her book, an expression of abject displeasure on her face. "You're late, Alexandra."

"Sorry, Mother," I apologize. "There was traffic."

I can't tell if she knows I'm lying or not, but I don't give her a chance to inquire any father. Instead, I walk over to her and give her a kiss as well.

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," she says, not bothering to greet me any farther. "Go wash your hands, please."

I roll my eyes and resist the urge to say, "I'm not five years old anymore, Mother."

Even now, she is still quite imposing, intimidating. She's never raised a hand to me – it's not that I'm scared of her – but she's a respectable, majestic figure even so. Although I'm no longer a child, I still have nothing but utmost respect for my mother.

I wash my hands and come into to the dining room, sitting down across from my mother at the table as Liana serves us soup.

I remember one time when I was four and my parents had invited some friends over for a dinner party. I begged to be allowed to sit with the grownups and finally, my mother agreed. We had tomato soup and I went to the cupboard and broke about twenty crackers in half and dropped them into the soup. My mother gave me a disapproving look, but I was so ecstatic just to be included that I didn't even care. I very carefully took a spoonful of soup and glanced around the table. Seeing that the grownups were all watching me, I gave them a gap-toothed smile and continued to delicately spoon my soup. My mother watched me with a frozen smile on her face, one that I know now meant that she was mortified but was trying to pretend she thought I was as adorable as everyone else did. The adults were smiling at me and whispering to each other, "Isn't she so cute?" and I was loving the attention. But the instant I finished my soup, my mother called my nanny, who carried me up to my room and made me stay up there all night.

Sitting here reminds me of that one time.

My mother takes a spoonful of soup, then asks politely, "How are Elliot and Olivia doing?"

"Good."

"How's the job going?"

"Good." It's my standard reply. Sometimes making conversation with my mother is like banging your head repeatedly into a brick wall.

"You know, Alexandra, I really wish you would at least _consider _getting out of that unit. It's not good for you and I'm concerned. You could do something like corporate law. Wouldn't that be better?"

She gives me a variation of this speech every single week and every single week I have to struggle to keep my cool as I give her my customary reply. "I like where I am now, Mother, but thank you for your concern."

"But Alexandra," she insists, not ready to let it go yet. "Every day you are dealing with the worst monsters in our society. You won't even _talk_ to me about it!"

I can't talk to her about it, but of course telling her that would prove her point. What am I supposed to say – "Hey, Mom, today I lost a case against a serial rapist who raped and murdered eight women and burned their skin so badly that they were barely identifiable?"

"We've close at SVU," I intone. "We talk to each other. We're all really good friends."

My mother raises an eyebrow and sighs, having the good sense to drop the topic.

**I know this one was short, but I'll have a new chapter up soon. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I am back with a new chapter! I got inspired; last night's episode made me remember just how much I missed Alex. Even though I actually liked it quite a bit and I think Jo Marlowe might be a good addition to the team, I still wish they would bring Alex back. **** They were just teasing us, bringing her back in **_**Ghost **_**and then making her leave again, then bringing her back in **_**Lead **_**and making her leave at the end of season ten, and finally bringing her back in **_**Hardwired **_**but getting rid of her in **_**Witness**_**. How many times will we have to say goodbye to our favorite ADA? **

**Okay, anyways, my rant is done. I finally decided on an actual plotline and the direction in which I want this story to go. It's going to be A/O! Enjoy.**

I get to the precinct at 10:00 on Monday morning and present Olivia with the warrant I painstakingly coaxed from Judge Petrovsky an hour before. Getting a warrant on circumstantial evidence alone is never an easy feat, but I've managed it once again.

She gives me an approving nod. "How'd you manage that?"

"With great difficulty," I reply, starting to pour myself a cup of coffee, then stilling my hands over the coffeemaker. "Wait a second, who made this?"

"I did," calls John from his desk and I turn to face him. He's twirling a pencil between his fingers with a slightly bored expression on his face.

I make a face and put the cup back.

"Hey," he says, a hurt look on his face. "It's not _that _bad."

"Yes, it is," Olivia tells him firmly. She turns back to me. "How was your weekend, Alex?" she asks with an impish half-smile. She knows about my weekly torturous dinners with my parents and never fails to give me a hard time about them.

"What weekend?" I ask with a hint of levity in my own tone. She knows about my weekly torturous dinners with my parents and never fails to give me a hard time about them.

"What weekend?" I ask with a hint of levity in my own tone.

She snickers. "What did you tell them this time?"

"Why are you so interested in my parents?" I return.

"Because she thinks they're going to be her parents too someday," replies John, even though he hasn't been included in this conversation.

"Shut up, John," we say in unison. I see the flush creeping into Olivia's cheeks and I'm sure mine are turning the same shade.

But there is an element of truth to his statement. I've had some not-so-innocent feelings for Olivia ever since I met her, but she's as straight as they come. The guys tease her about her love life (or lack thereof), but every single person she cancels a date with is definitely a man.

Sometimes, though – especially after I've had a few drinks – I imagine running my fingers through those gorgeous brown locks, pressing my own mouth over those soft, full lips, her hands exploring my body and mine exploring hers.

But then, I know this will never – _can _never – be. I am Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot, daughter of the wealthy, educated Elizabeth and William Cabot. I am blonde, pretentious, rich, ambitious, clever, passionate, and witty. And one more thing – I am attracted to men, and men _only_.

Or so I should be.

My mother would kill me if she found out how I feel about Olivia. And Olivia – well, if I told her, she would laugh me out of the squad room.

John raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I concede."

"If you're so interested, why don't you come with me next Saturday?" I ask Olivia, not dreaming she'll even consider my offer. It's more talk than anything.

She shrugs. "I would _love _to see where our well-to-do, pretentious ADA's parents live."

I just gape at her, but then gain control of myself. What the hell. My parents have wanted to meet my best friend ever since I started telling them about her years ago. Maybe it'll reassure them that my job isn't so bad after all to see my well-functioning colleague. Well, "functioning" is a subjective term.

"And," adds Olivia, "I'll tease you about it for the rest of your life."

_Of course._

**I hope you like where I'm taking this. I'm usually not a big femslash writer; I usually portray Alex and Olivia as just friends, but I decided to try this out. Review for chapter four!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I know this is a short chapter. My apologies. I'll update as soon as I can.**

So that's how Olivia ends up at my apartment next Saturday afternoon. She's lounging on my couch while I flat-iron my hair.

"Come on!" she calls. "We're going to be late. Your hair is fine. It doesn't have to be perfect."

"You don't know my parents," I call back.

I can tell even though I can't see her that she's rolling her eyes.

Finally satisfied with the state of my hair, I put away the flat-iron. Taking one last glimpse in the mirror, I go back out to the sitting room. "Okay," I tell Olivia as I sling my purse over my shoulder. "Let's go."

She glances at me, taking in my perfectly coordinated outfit with heels and a purse to match and my perfectly straight hair, not one strand out of place. "I'm guessing I'm underdressed," she says, sounding a bit unsure.

I wave my hand dismissively and say, "You're fine," even though she's probably not. It isn't that Olivia dresses sloppily or is anything less than gorgeous, but her hair is slightly tangled and windswept because she's been outdoors all day. She's wearing a pink and orange striped long-sleeved t-shirt, blue jeans and running shoes. I think she looks absolutely beautiful, but I know my mother wouldn't agree. And she's the only one who matters tonight.

As we exit my apartment and Olivia hails a cab, I wonder why I care so much about the impression she makes on my parents. Perhaps there is a hint of truth to what John said, and maybe she really _might _be my girlfriend someday. Of course, I'll only introduce her to my parents as a colleague, and a friend, but someday things might be very different.

A girl can dream, right?

I hear Olivia's sharp intake of breath when we reach my parents' house. "_This _is where you grew up?"

I nod.

She raises her eyebrows. "I always knew you came from money, but this is just . . . excessive."

I roll my eyes. "Aw, _thanks_."

Olivia laughs as I hand the taxi driver a twenty and tell him to keep the change. We climb out of the cab and I knock on the front door.

Liana gives me a big smile when she sees me. "Hello, Alex. Who's this?"

"This is Olivia," I tell her, feeling like I'm five years old and introducing a kindergarten classmate. "We . . . work together." At least that's the truth. I turn to the detective. "This is Liana."

Olivia gives her a polite smile and holds out her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

I lead the detective into the sitting room, where my parents are on the couch, my mother reading a novel and my father his newspaper. This is generally where I find them on Saturday afternoons.

My mother raises her head at the sound of my footsteps entering the room. "Hello, Alexandra," she says, her smile not quite meeting her icy blue eyes; the mirror image of my own. "And who is this?"

"This is Olivia," I explain. _She wanted to meet you, _I don't add.

"How nice. It's good to meet you, Olivia. Alexandra has told us about you," says my mother politely, but her disapproval is evident on her face. I resist the urge to tell her that just because she doesn't like what Olivia does for a living – or what I do, for that matter – doesn't make her – or I – a bad person.

She smiles uneasily and holds her hand out to shake my mother's, then does the same to my father. "It's nice to meet you, Olivia," echoes my father, his tone warmer and more welcoming than my mother's.

Olivia glances at me and I can read the message in her eyes plain and clear. _I see what you mean about your parents._

I smirk and send her one back. _Enjoy._

**Review to find out what happens next!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Last night's (well, tonight's if you're in the US) episode was a major disappointment. Not a lot of E/O. They were only undercover for ten minutes or less. **** Just felt like getting that off my chest.**

We sit down at the dining room table, Olivia across from me and my parents on either end of the table. The look on her face as she notices how many forks are at her place setting is priceless. One for salad, one for potatoes, one for the main course, and one for dessert. Sometimes it feel like we're a kosher family who needs different dishes for dairy and meat. Olivia's staring at the excess of cutlery at her place with a horrified look on her face, then glances at me with a clear, _Oh, my God, which one do I use?_

Sitting down and crossing one leg over the other, I smirk and toss my hair. This is going to be fun.

Following my cue, Olivia takes her own seat. She doesn't take her eyes off me as I fold my napkin and put it in my lap, and she does the same.

Liana serves us each some salad. My mother thanks her, then clears her throat and turns to Olivia. I wince inwardly. _Time for the third degree._

"So, Olivia," says my mother. "Tell me about yourself."

She seems to be considering how to answer this one. I know it's hard for Olivia to talk about herself, but I feel her pain – it's doubly hard to decide what to say in front of someone as proper as my mother.

Shrugging, she finally hedges, "I work with Alex."

My mother nods. "Alexandra told us."

"You probably know her better than we do," jokes my father.

My face turns red, although I don't know why. It's definitely true, but then, my parents never knew me all that well to begin with.

Olivia giggles nervously.

"Tell me about your family," my mother presses her.

I try not to roll my eyes at how shallow that sounds. My parents have always cared whether my friends' parents operated in the same social circles as they did, and if they didn't, then goodbye to my friend. I feel like a five-year-old again, parading my friend in front of my parents, hoping they approve.

Then I wonder how Olivia's going to answer that one. My parents wouldn't be pleased to know that Olivia's mother was an abusive alcoholic and she doesn't even know who her father is – she only exists because he raped her mother. She was even reluctant to share those details with me, but eventually, I earned her trust and she began to open up. But even now, she is still very sensitive about her parentage.

"They died," says Olivia, in a way that effectively ends that particular topic of conversation.

"Oh. I'm sorry," says my mother, then continues to fire questions at her like a cannon. "So how long have you been working at SVU for?"

"Four years."

"It must be quite a difficult job," my mother comments.

"Yes," agrees Olivia. "But rewarding."

"Why did you want to become an SVU detective?"

She shrugs and I can see that she's uncomfortable. "I like to help people." Usually, she just tells people the truth, but I guess she realizes this wouldn't be the right thing to say to my mother. At first, I wonder why she cares. She only wanted to come today because she thought it would be fun, something to tease me about. But then I think maybe making a good impression on my parents actually does mean something to her.

And that makes me wonder why.

My mother seems to accept this, then changes the subject again. "Do you have any family?"

She glances at me before saying, "No. It's just me."

"Don't you want children?"

I can't wait to get myself – and Olivia – out of there. My old-fashioned mother believes that it's every woman's duty to have a child – even if it's just one. Olivia isn't particularly impressing her, though she's clearly trying hard.

She seems to be considering my mother's question. "I'd like children."

Liana comes out and serves us soup. The relief from the distraction on Olivia's face mirrors my own. We eat in silence for a few moments before my mother starts with the questions again. "Tell me about –"

"Mother," I interrupt her, acutely aware of how shallow – and probably impolite – she seems to Olivia. I don't want the detective to think badly of my family – partly because I don't want her teasing me and partly for another reason I can't put my finger on. "What's with the third degree?"

She looks down her nose at me. "Just making conversation, Alexandra."

"Right. So, how was the charity function on Thursday?"

I breathe a sigh of relief as my mother launches into a story about the latest luncheon. She attends charity functions almost every week and she can talk for hours about all of the wealthy benefactors, the clothes they wear, their hairstyles, and so on.

I exchange a glance with Olivia and can read the thanks in her eyes. _Disaster averted._

**Review for chapter six!**


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of dinner is just as torturous, but we survive. My father invites us to stay for a movie, but I can't wait to get out of that house and decline as politely as I can. God, this reminds me why I was so eager for law school and why I spent as much of my childhood as possible away from home.

My father looks disappointed, but he gives me a kiss and Olivia a firm handshake as we put on our coats to leave.

"I'll see you next week, Alexandra," says my mother, giving me air kisses; her general way of saying hello and goodbye. "It was nice meeting you, Olivia."

Olivia smiles uneasily. "It was nice meeting you too, Mrs. Cabot."

"Hopefully we'll be seeing more of you in the future," comments my father with an impish smile. My mother shoots him an icy glare and I cringe inwardly.

I grab Olivia's arm and half-drag her out of there. I want to get as far away as possible as quickly as I can.

Raising my arm to hail a cab, Olivia and I climb into the backseat. I give the driver my address and lean my head against the window. In unison, Olivia and I sigh in relief, then glance at each other in amusement.

"Well," she says with a sardonic smile. "That was fun."

I groan. "Are you still jealous, Liv?"

She shakes her head emphatically. "This is one of the rare occasions where I am thankful my mother is – _was _– the way she was."

"Really?" I ask in surprise. "I, for one, would rather be suffocated than ignored. And I know firsthand how smothering parents can be."

Olivia shrugs. "Sometimes solitude can be lonely, but sometimes it's tranquil."

I raise my eyebrows, but I can kind of see what she means. Still, I'm sure Olivia's childhood was traumatic for her. From what little she's told me, I gather that she took care of herself since the age of two, and I know for a fact that her mother was a violent drunk who used to beat her when intoxicated. But I guess that for her, as horrible and lonely as she was by herself, it must have been even worse when her mother was there. As overbearing as my mother is, at least I know she loves me.

Olivia's voice cuts into my thoughts. Quirking her lips into that patented impish grin, she says, "Now I'll truly have something to tease you about for the rest of your life."

I roll my eyes. I guess I'm never going to live _that _one down!

We ride in silence. When we reach my apartment, I hand the cab driver a twenty and tell him to keep the change. Then I turn to Olivia. "Do you want to come up to my apartment, stay awhile?"

She raises her eyebrows in amusement. "Thought you would have had enough of me by now."

"I'm not my mother," I remind her, disdain evident in my voice.

"I know. But still, we bear the burden of our parents' sins."

Her wisdom is profound but at the same time completely irrelevant. At first, I wonder what she means by that. Then I wonder whether she's referring to me or to herself.

**Review for chapter seven!**


	7. Chapter 7

Olivia declines my invitation, so I walk up to my apartment alone, wondering why I feel so disappointed. I can't tell if the dinner was a success or a disaster. Maybe it was a bit of both.

Suddenly, I wonder if maybe my parents realized my true motives for bringing Olivia along for dinner. My mother is extremely single-minded, so it's safe to assume that she is blissfully ignorant, but my father is another story. He's harder to read than my mother. He usually keeps his feelings to himself, whereas my mother will blurt out whatever comes to mind, no matter how insensitive it may sound.

Maybe Olivia herself, perceptive as she is, realized my true motives. Maybe that's why she – no. _No_. Stopping this train of thought. I am _not _going to overanalyze Olivia. Sometimes my relationships (or lack thereof) feel like they're right out of a psychotherapy handbook. I can never keep a relationship because I'm constantly trying to overanalyze my potential love interests. I scrutinize their motives, their thoughts about themselves, their feelings about me . . . That's why my love life is nonexistent. But I'm not going to make the same mistake this time and alienate Olivia. I care about her too much for that.

I fumble in my purse for the keys to my apartment, then unlock the door and let myself in. I kick off my heels and flop down on my couch, suddenly exhausted.

And besides, the sooner I get to sleep, the sooner Monday morning will come. And the sooner Monday morning comes, the sooner I'll get to see Olivia.

On Monday morning, I waltz into the precinct looking just as put-together as usual. I've made an extra effort to look good this morning. I'm not exactly sure why; I would say it's to impress Olivia, except I know she doesn't care. _She _comes into work in jeans and a t-shirt or a sweater pretty much every day. Appearances don't mean much to her. It's what's underneath that counts.

"Your warrant," I announce, dropping the envelope on Olivia's desk with a triumphant smirk.

She shakes her head with a sardonic smile. "And the brilliant one's done it again."

Smirking, I perch on her desk. "I enjoy your gratitude."

"Alex," calls John from the other end of the room. "Olivia was just telling us about your Saturday rendezvous."

I blush, then meet his gaze. Amusement twinkles in John's eyes as he leans back in his chair, clicking his pen. "Yeah, well, someday I'm going to have one up on all of you."

Olivia chuckles. "Doubt it."

"Someday," I repeat.

She raises an eyebrow. "Your mother's really something."

I groan. "Yeah. My childhood was all sunshine and lollipops."

She tilts her head. "So was mine."

I shake my head. It never fails to amaze me how blithe Olivia can be in the squad room, engaging in our playful banter. But when it's just the two of us, she's different. More serious. Wiser. More genuine, even. Sometimes I wonder which is the real Olivia Benson.

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	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks later, we catch a particularly trying case. Particularly trying for Olivia, that is. A fourteen-year-old girl murdered her alcoholic mother. First of all, I have to decide whether to take the case to criminal court or family court.

"She's a _child_," Olivia told me, unable to mask her contempt. "Take her to family court."

I sighed. "It's not that simple, Liv."

"_Make _it that simple," she ordered.

I know her mother is a sensitive topic to Olivia and she sees herself in this girl. In the Special Victims Unit, we're like family, and we make allowances for each other.

So that's why I'm sitting in my boss' officer right now, all but begging her to let me take Alana Richards to family court.

"Alex, this is an open and shut case. It's an easy win and we don't want to set a precedent. She's going to criminal court," Liz tells me firmly.

"But Liz," I argue. "How can we send this little girl – and that's all she is, just a child – to jail for twenty-five years? She murdered her alcoholic mother who beat her severely. She was terrified."

Liz raises her eyebrows. "If you want to save the children of New York City, become a social worker. The sole purpose of the DA's office is to uphold the law."

"You just don't want people to think we're soft on crime! Stop making this a political battle and let us do the right thing."

She tilts her head and stares at me. "Why are you so adamantly opposed to prosecuting this case?"

I hesitate, unsure how to answer. I can't break Olivia's confidence. I know she might be pushing her own agenda and that's not the role of the DA's office or the NYPD. But still, Olivia is my best friend – maybe more than a friend and I don't want to hurt her. I don't know what she might have told Liz about her own circumstances, but I know this is important to Olivia and I need to do this for her. That's what friends do.

Instead, I say, "One life has already been ended. Let's not add another to the casualty list."

"You're seeing the girl as a victim, Alex. She's a murderer. Take her to trial and give her the max."

I just stare at her. I know Liz is politically ambitious, but heartless? "But –"

She sits down at her desk again and waves her hand dismissively, indicating that this conversation is over.

I take a moment to reassess my predicament. Maybe I'm being single-minded, but we've all been there. Everyone in the NYPD or the DA's office has used their position to push their own agenda, even my boss. Sometimes it's all we can do.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Alex," says Liz, and that's my cue to leave.

I hail a cab outside the DA's office and hesitate when the driver asks where I want to go. Olivia's going to bite my head off if I tell her what Liz wants me to do, but she has to know sooner or later. Figuring there's no point in postponing the inevitable, I tell the taxi driver to take me to the precinct.

I take a deep breath as we arrive. Handing the driver a twenty, I tell him to keep the change and climb out of the cab.

Olivia and Elliot are the only ones in the squad room. He's eating a burger and she's picking at a salad as they flip through a mountain of files.

Olivia notices me first. "So we're good?"

I sigh and pull out a chair, sitting as close to her as I dare. I don't want to be the nearest thing to her just in case she explodes. I'm trying to find the nicest way to say this, but I guess there's no way around it, so I just blurt out the truth. "Liz told me she has to go to criminal court." I pause, chance a glance at Olivia, whose expression is like nothing I've ever seen her wear before. "I'm sorry."

The wounded, defeated look on her face when I say that is one I will never forget as long as I live.

**Review for chapter nine!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I know it's been awhile. My Internet's been down – actually, it's still down but my dad just bought me a laptop with I'm soooooo excited about and he bought me a Rogers Internet stick so even if the house connection is down, I can get Internet. And I'm so excited for the SVU season finale tomorrow night (well, here in Canada – I think in the US it plays on Wednesday). I also bought the whole season of **_**Conviction **_**off Amazon for a ridiculously unfair price because I wanted to see Alex as bureau chief. It was actually pretty good and I watched all thirteen episode. I also bought Trial By Jury just because, so I didn't have much time to write. But now I'm back and here's a significantly long chapter!**

**Also, sorry if Alex seems a bit out of character here. I know she kind of does. I tried.**

Tearing apart a child on the stand is not the highlight of my career, but, much as I resent it, I have to do my job. Olivia's sitting in the gallery and I can feel her eyes boring into my soul, dark orbs of disappointment and pain. We've learned from day one to separate ourselves from the cases we try, but I know firsthand that it's impossible to shut off our emotions completely.

She'd be angry if she knew, but I can't help thinking, _Poor Olivia. _

But I have to turn it off. I can't be thinking like this. All that matters right now is me and the judge and the jury. I need to make them see that Alana Richards needs to be put away for a very long time. I need them to see past her fourteen-year-old exterior, her quiet innocence, her absolute _fear_. I can't even glance at her because I don't want to see the terrified look on her face, the way her hands are shaking, the way her body is trembling. But I still need to make the jury believe she's a monster.

How can I do that when I don't believe it myself?

I steel myself, hardening my facial expressions, making my eyes as icy as they possibly can be as I face Alana Richards. _Oh, my God. I can't do this_.

But I have to. "Alana," I say coldly. "What happened on May 2, 2010?"

She looks at the ground, then forces herself to meet my eyes. "I killed my mother."

"How did you kill her?" I ask, still using my prosecutor voice, the one that allows no room for negations. The one that allows no room for mercy.

"She was hitting me," whispers Alana, and two tears leak from her eyes, running down her cheeks like large wet pearls. She doesn't bother to wipe them away as she continues. "I fought back. I hit her. I'd never done that before. She was surprised. And then – then I was kicking her. And her head snapped back. And she – she just _whimpered_. But I couldn't stop myself. I just – I just kept kicking. And kicking. And then – and then she was dead. There was just –" She lets out a strangled sob. "There was just so much blood!"

"Are you sorry you killed her?" I ask in that same hard tone.

I can tell she's considering the question, then she says quietly, "No."

"So you feel no remorse for murdering your mother, the one who's taken care of you all your life?" I clarify, even though I know I'm laying it on way too thick. I chance a glance at Olivia and the disappointment – the _pain _– etched into her features pierces my heart like a knife.

Alana shakes her head.

I can't tear my eyes from Olivia as I ask Alana, "You killed her because you were angry?"

"I killed her because she hurt me," she says softly.

"Many other people have hurt you in your life and many people will in the future," I tell her with false contempt. I understand. I wish I didn't have to do this. "So how do we know you won't do it again? Maybe kill the boy who doesn't want to go on a date with you? Maybe –"

"Objection!" calls the defence attorney.

I've gone too far. Tears are streaking down her cheeks and she's desperately trying to impede their flow. I can't win this one. She's a child and that's what the jury will see. "Withdrawn." Softening my voice, I ask, "So, Alana, your mother abused you?"

Alana wipes a hand across her tearstained cheeks and rubs her eyes as she nods. "Yes."

I'm still watching Olivia, who's sitting motionless, her expression unreadable as I continue, "Why did you never tell anyone?"

She looks down. "I was scared. I was ashamed."

"Why did you never call 911 when she was hitting you?"

She starts to cry again. "I don't know!"

"Why did you never tell a teacher, Alana? Or a friend's parent, a neighbour, anyone?"

"You don't know what it's like!" Alana burst out. "I'll bet your parents loved _you_! They never hit _you_! You don't know how it feels to be scared every second of every day, to feel so _guilty _and _dirty _and _ashamed_."

Momentarily daunted, I glance back at Olivia, locking eyes with her. More to myself than anything, I murmur, "And you blamed yourself. You thought it was your fault, but it's not. It's never your fault. You're nothing like her." And then I realize I'm not talking to Alana. I'm talking to Olivia.

And she knows it too, because she jumps up and all but runs from the courtroom.

There I am, staring at the seat Olivia's just vacated. Judge Petrovsky is gaping at me and the defence attorney is clearly bemused. I can tell she's trying to decide whether or not to object or what I'm even talking about.

I turn to the judge. "Your Honor," I stutter, too far gone to continue. Right now, there's only one thing on my mind, and it's Olivia. I need to make sure she's okay. "The people request a short recess."

Understanding dawns on her face, then amusement. "We'll reconvene after lunch."

Great. That gives me almost two hours.

I dash out of the courtroom as fast as my four inch heels will allow.

**Review for chapter ten!**


	10. Chapter 10

**My next few updates are going to be intermittent, but here's one for now. Sorry if either of them seems out of character; I tried. And this is just because it shouldn't have been Casey who Olivia told about her mother. It should have been Alex! Anyone agree? Anyways, I hope you enjoy!**

Olivia's sitting on the steps of the courthouse, drinking a cup of coffee, trying to look nonchalant, but I see the past the façade. Slowing my stride to a brisk walk, I go over to her and silently sit down beside her. I wait for her to say something.

She doesn't. She refuses to even look at me and my body turns to ice. She feels like I've betrayed her. She can't even bear to see my face.

But then – how can she blame me? Sometimes as a detective she has to deal with a case that she doesn't want to deal with or find evidence against a perp she feels sorry for. This is nothing new. It's just part of our jobs and we take it in stride. So why is this so different?

She finally looks up and locks her eyes onto mine, not flinching. In a cold voice I've never heard her use except with murderers and rapists, the scum we deal with on a daily basis, she bites out, "If I'd killed my mother when I was younger, would you have wanted _me_ to go to jail for twenty-five years?"

I blink, surprised. So that's what this is about. I should have known. "But you didn't."

She shrugs. "I could have. I came close once." With venom lacing her voice, she adds, "She would have deserved it."

"You can't take justice into your own hands. No one can. That's why we have laws."

"I know," she says bitterly, then hesitates. "Let me tell you a story."

I can tell she's about to share something sacred with me, something buried deep inside her core, and I nod, trying not to seem too eager. Much as I hate to admit it, Olivia is a mystery, even though I know her well. Or as well as anyone can know her – as well as she'll _let _anyone know her.

She takes a breath as if bracing herself, then begins her story. "When I was sixteen, there was this boy."

Of course. Every angst-ridden tale begins with a boy. _They're not worth it, Liv, _I don't tell her.

She continues, "He was one of my mother's students. He was twenty-one. He asked me to marry him. I didn't love him, but he would have been a good escape. All I wanted was to get away from her and he was my ticket out of there. So I said yes." She sighs and glances at me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction before continuing. Then she does. "She found out, of course. She told me to stop seeing him. I said we were getting married and at least he loved me more than she did." She laughs, a humourless, rueful laugh. "I was a stupid kid. I hadn't learned by then never to say something like that. After sixteen years . . . She said she'd have him kicked out of college. I said I was leaving. And she – she was halfway through a bottle of vodka and she dropped it and it shattered and she came at me with it." She stops again and looks right into my eyes. I'm sitting motionless, listening, waiting for her to go on, so she continues, "I kicked her. Hard. She went flying across the room and I could see the surprise on her face. I'd never hurt her before. I'd never fought back. I'd always just taken it – but not anymore. I kicked her again, and again, and again – and then I realized what I was doing. I ran out. I was terrified . . ."

I see the tears pooling in her chocolate eyes and it's tearing my heart out. I've never seen Olivia cry before. She's always been so strong – for herself, for the victims, even for _me_. I hate myself for making her relive such a painful memory and before I can stop myself, I've wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "It's not your fault," I whisper.

She tenses at the touch, but then relaxes when she realizes it's just me. I'm just as surprised as she is – I've never done this before. I've never hugged her or even put a hand on her shoulder, in comfort or anything else. But she doesn't break the contact and I realize how good it feels to be so close to her like this.

I don't know how long we sit like that for, but neither of us moves for what seems like a second and an eternity all at once. Then I hear an uncertain voice from behind me. "Liv?"

We break apart as if we've been caught doing something wrong and turn around. Standing a few feet away from us is Elliot, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "Are you okay?" he asks his partner, moving closer to her.

She wipes at her eyes, removing the remnants of her tears, and manages a small smile. "Yeah. I'm fine, Elliot."

He gives me a wary glance, still clearly apprehensive. "Why are you here, Elliot?" I ask him.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm glad to be so wanted here. Cragen sent me out to find Liv. We caught a case."

She nods and pushes herself onto slightly shaky legs and I see something flash across her face, an expression I rarely see on my strong Olivia. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared and she follows Elliot down the steps, glancing back at me before turning and hurrying away.

I watch them go, wondering what just transpired. Moreover, I'm wondering what it _means._

**Review for chapter eleven!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Once again, sorry if Alex seems out of character here. I did my best. I think the quick update makes up for it though. **

Due to an emergency for the judge, court is postponed until the next day. Olivia's sitting in the gallery again but now I know exactly what to do. Breathing a silent prayer, I sit and listen to the defence's witnesses – character witnesses mostly. I don't ask them anything that could potentially incriminate Alana and I can see the surprise on Olivia's face that I've completely changed my tune. The defence attorney doesn't understand why I've decided to go easy on her client; I can see the confusion etched into her features. But I don't care. This is for Olivia, and no one else.

The surprise on Olivia's face changes to pride and she gives me a slow smile.

The jury comes back with a guilty verdict, but I can safely say it has nothing to do with me. I can feel Olivia's eyes boring into me as I stutter to the judge, "At this time, the prosecution is prepared to recommend leniency."

She nods. "So noted. Be back for sentencing in two weeks." She bangs the gavel. "Court is adjourned."

I wait for the courtroom to clear before going over to Olivia, who's still sitting motionless in the gallery. I sit down beside her and she looks at me. "You did the right thing."

"That's comforting," I say sarcastically. "Donnelly's going to have my ass."

She laughs. "I'll protect you."

"Cragen's going to have _your _ass."

With mock bravado, she says, "I'm not afraid of him."

I laugh with her. "Well, that makes it _all _better."

To every lie, to every joke, there is an element of truth. Because that _did _make it all better.

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself when I'm standing still and straight as a statue in front of Liz Donnelly an hour later.

"Judge Petrovsky called me," she informs me. "She was _amused_. She told me about your antics in court today."

I don't say anything. There's nothing to say.

"I thought I only had prosecutors working in the office. What the hell is wrong with you?"

I remain silent.

"That wasn't rhetorical!" she snaps.

I have the sudden urge to say, "I plead the fifth," which is what I did when I was fifteen and got caught smoking on school property – the first and last time because those things are _vile_. I thought I was all that, a cocky kid with false bravado and a legalese vocabulary that rivalled my teachers'. But I bite back that retort. It worked in high school just because my teachers were half impressed and half amused, but Liz will be neither impressed nor amused. "I – I thought it was the right thing to do," I say quietly; the truth, in essence, with a few crucial details left out.

She narrows her eyes at me. "That's all you have?"

I nod.

"That's all you've got to say for yourself?" she clarifies and when I nod, she raises her eyebrows and adds, "That's not like you."

_That's nice. _"I have nothing to say," I tell her in as calm a voice as I can muster.

She pierces me with her sharp glare. I don't flinch. "Is this about Detective Benson?"

My heart flips over and starts to race as if it's running a marathon. How does she know? Liz is perceptive, but I've been very discreet . . . Did Olivia say something? No, how would she have? Even she doesn't know about my feelings for her. Maybe . . . oh, my goodness, Liz wants to confirm or deny it. And if I don't say anything, she'll take it as an affirmation. I can't break Olivia's trust. But I can't lie to my boss. But Liz will be furious if I tell her my true motives. I'm at a loss for words.

Liz smirks. "Don't be naïve, Alexandra. You're not particularly discreet. I saw the way you were looking at her in the courtroom."

_Shit. Was I that obvious? _"No, Liz," I stutter. "She has nothing to do with –"

"You're a bad liar," she barks. "Don't even try."

I'm actually not a bad liar; she just took me by surprise. Usually I'm good at thinking on the spot, but this is different. So I just stand there, staring at her, my mouth slightly agape.

"Close your mouth," she snaps, then sighs. "Go home, Alex."

Is that it? Did I get off with no punishment whatsoever? I expected a suspension at the very least for my antics and I was prepared to deal with the consequences. "Am I –"

"I'll see you tomorrow," she interrupts. "Now get out."

I don't need telling twice, but as I turn to go, Liz's sharp voice stops me.

"Alex. Tell her."

I whirl around to face her. First of all, who does she think she is to meddle in my life and give such personal advice? She's my boss! But then my anger evaporates because I know she's right.

Then Liz adds something that takes my breath away. "She loves you too."

**Review for more!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry if the dialogue seems a bit clichéd. I tried. And duh duh duh . . . this is the chapter you've been waiting for!**

Even though she isn't particularly qualified to give it, I decide to take my boss' advice. But first, I need my pick-me-up.

I'm in the bar across the street from the DA's office with my third glass of liquid courage when a tall brunette slides into the seat next to me. "Hey, stranger," she says, flashing me her patented grin. "Thought I might find you here."

I shrug and push my glass away. "You missed me?"

"Glad to see you're still alive and Donnelly hasn't murdered you."

I laugh. "She's not _that _bad."

"_Right_. No, seriously. What did she do to you? Suspension?"

"Nope," I say, enjoying the puzzlement on Olivia's face. "She just said to go home and she'd see me tomorrow." _She told me to tell you I love you, _I don't add.

"Ah." Understanding dawns on Olivia's face. "What's she got on you?"

"Nothing. She just decided to be nice."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same person? _Donnelly _decided to be _nice_?"

I roll my eyes. "Can we change the subject?"

She smirks. "Sure. So, how come you're here?"

I groan. "What would you say if I said, 'To get drunk'?"

"Well, if you're drunk, you sure know how to hold your alcohol."

"I'm not," I inform her. "I've been blessed with the ability to consume many drinks without getting drunk. Well, I guess it could be a blessing or a curse, depending on your point of view."

"Trying to drown your sorrows?" she asks melodramatically with a quirky grin.

"What sorrows? I won the case."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, Alex, here's the deal. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

My head snaps up. "What?"

She shifts in her seat. "I wanted to apologize."

"I heard you," I reply, slightly dazed. "But why?"

"I pushed you on this one," she explains. "I shouldn't have. You were just doing your job. I shouldn't have blamed you. It wasn't my right. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I tell her. "You were right. I was too hard."

"Regardless, your boss told you to do something and I told you to do the opposite. I shouldn't have put you in that position. I'm sorry."

"You were doing the right thing, Liv. And I would rather be like that than do what Liz tells me just _because_ she tells me."

Olivia stares at me. "_Why_?"

Oh, my God. Now how do I answer _that_? Well, honesty is the best policy. Thinking equals death when it comes to matters of the heart, so I don't. Instead I blurt out, "Because I love you!"

The expression on her face is a mixture of confusion, apprehension, relief, and then something I can't place – _fear_. It's an expression so foreign to Olivia Benson's face that I barely recognize it at first, but then I do.

"You can't."

I just look at her for a moment, confused. _I can't what? Love her? Because she doesn't love me. Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. Oh, my –_

"I'm not an easy person to love," she says quietly.

I just stare at her, uncomprehending. Is this a rejection? "But I love you for _you_," I explain simply, unsure whether making myself vulnerable by admitting my true feelings was a worthwhile gamble or a stupid move, made all the more foolish by the drinks I've consumed.

She lets out a quiet gasp and I see it: no one's ever said this to her before and she doesn't know how to react. Her mother certainly never said it, and the boyfriends I know about only used her. She's never loved anyone and no one's loved her. That makes me really sad, but also excited to be her first. She's never been in love before. Then I have to wonder: _Is she now?_

**Review to find out what happens next!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning: M-rated content ahead. *here there be smut***

The expression on her face changes quickly to about ten different things in five seconds, then she looks right into my eyes. Taking a shaky breath, she admits, "Alex, I never felt this way about anyone before, but I think – I think –"

Made all the more brazen from the alcohol, I press a finger to her lips, saving her the difficulty of having to find just the right thing to say. I take my finger away and plant a fervent kiss on her lips, hardly daring to breathe as I wait to see whether or not she'll pull away. She doesn't. Instead she deepens the kiss and I let out a sigh of relief. I've wanted this for so long!

Finally we break apart, my heart pounding as if I've just run a marathon.

Olivia manages a small smile. "We should get a room," she whispers, and if I didn't know better, I would have thought _she _was the drunk one, not me.

I grin. "No objection," I whisper. I can hardly believe that this is happening. Pinching my forearm, I feel a sharp sting. _Oh, my God – it's not just a dream. This is real!_

"My place or yours?" she asks me.

"Whichever's closer," I reply.

She laughs. "Yours."

We walk outside and Olivia holds out her hand to hail a cab. I give the driver my address, and then we're on our way.

I hold my breath as I stare out the window, fully appreciating the New York City landscape. In ten minutes, it'll just be me and her. Doing what, however, I can't say. I can only hope.

We reach my apartment and she pays the driver, then turns to me with a lopsided grin. "Come on."

I don't know why she seems to be the one in control right now – we're going to _my _apartment and _she's _the one leading _me _inside! But then, I'm too drunk, with both desire and alcohol, to care.

Pushing myself up onto shaky legs – made partly so because of my intoxicated state and partly due to my nervousness – I lead her up three flights of stairs to my apartment. I fumble with my key and we finally manage to negotiate ourselves inside.

Somehow, we end up in my bedroom. Olivia's hands are trembling as she fumbles with her pants, unbuckling her belt and sliding them down her tanned thighs. I'm burning with desire as she pulls off her panties and throws them on the ground. And as soon as there's room for me, I'm between her legs, thrusting in and out of the wetness between Olivia's legs.

The whole world falls away. It's just me and her and the bliss of being inside the one I love. It's not me and her; it's the two of us, united as one.

And then her hands are pulling at my shirt, helping me out of my clothes, and then her hands are exploring my body. I lean into her touch, the sensations sending shivers down my spine as her fingers dance over my thighs. Suppressing a moan, I part them eagerly, and then she's touching me, making me feel things that I've never felt before.

We make love for what seems like forever. Finally, we collapse on my bed, exhausted.

"That was fucking amazing," mutters Olivia.

I'm too wiped out to say a word. I just nod mutely.

She laughs, and we fall asleep in each other's arms.

**Okay, granted, I've never really written anything like this before so don't be too hard on me. I decided to expand my horizons. **** I tried. Review for chapter fourteen!**


	14. Chapter 14

**I know this is too short to be a chapter, so let's call it a semi-chapter. I thought it belonged best by itself.**

I wake up in the morning to sunshine streaming in through my window. A lazy smile flits across my face as I remember last night. "Mmm," I purr, rolling onto my other side. "Olivia."

But she doesn't answer. I open my eyes, but the space beside me is vacant. Suddenly, I'm wide awake. "Olivia?"

But she's gone.

I search the apartment, but she hasn't even left a note. My heart sinks. _Olivia's gone. _I should have known.

I might have thought this would happen. Maybe deep down somewhere, I might have even known it. But that does little to lessen the blow.

**Oooooooh, a cliffie! Duh duh duh. I'm evil! Review if you want to find out what happens next.**


	15. Chapter 15

I have to drag myself down to the DA's office. I wish I could just go to bed and sleep away my embarrassment, but I have a couple open cases I need to work on.

I'm sitting at my desk, leafing aimlessly through some paperwork when I hear the knock on my door. My heart leaps into my throat for a moment when it occurs to me that it might be Olivia, but then I know it isn't. Against my better judgment, I call, "Yes?"

The door flies open before I've even finished the word. Oh, great. It's Liz. If anyone in the world would be less welcome than Olivia right now, it would be her.

But she doesn't mention our conversation yesterday. All business, she snaps, "You have a problem."

I close my eyes, hoping it isn't personal. "What problem?"

"The Rodriguez case."

I can't suppress my sigh of relief, and Liz looks down her nose at me.

"It's nothing to be pleased about. The kid's dead."

Gracelynn Rodriguez is – _was _– a five-year-old beaten half to death by her father. She was on life support for the past few days and now she's dead.

"Okay, so we charge him with murder two," I tell her, wondering what the problem is.

"He's claiming the machine was turned off against his wishes."

"So." I stare at her blankly.

"So get out your ass down to the precinct and do something about it!"

Groaning, I curb the urge to tell her to fix it herself. Instead, I grab my coat and obediently hail a cab. Giving the driver my destination, I fold my hands in my lap and wait, my stomach doing cartwheels as we near the police station.

When we arrive, I take a deep breath to calm my pounding heart and pay the taxi driver before proceeding inside.

Elliot greets me with a smile when I enter the squad room, but Olivia doesn't even raise her head.

"Apparently, I'm supposed to 'do something about' the Rodriguez case," I inform him.

"Liv's the main detective on that one," he reminds me. "Ask her."

Olivia still won't meet my eyes. She becomes very interested in picking at her fingernails.

My heart is pounding so loudly that I'm sure they can hear it. _Olivia's mad at me. But _why_? _"So, Olivia," I begin, but then I stop, realizing she's not listening. I clear my throat. "Liv?"

She gets up and locks her chocolate eyes with mine. The wildness – the _fire _– in her eyes surprises me for a moment, but I don't look away.

And then she very deliberately turns her head and walks away.

"What was _that_ all about?" wonders Elliot, staring after her.

I shrug. "No idea."

It's partly the truth.

**Review for chapter sixteen!**


	16. Chapter 16

I hang around the precinct for the next hour, but it's clear that I'm not going to get anywhere. Olivia's the one I need to talk to and she clearly wants nothing to do with me. But then, I can't go back to the DA's office and say, "Well, sorry Liz, Olivia hates me and doesn't want to talk to me so I couldn't fix the problem because she wouldn't tell me what the hell the problem was!" I need to keep my private life private, especially from my boss.

_Life is not fair, _I think to myself as I hail a cab back to the DA's office.

Of course, Liz is standing right there, waiting for me with her arms crossed over her chest. "_Well_?"

"Well," I stall, trying to think of what to say. "Well, they didn't need me after all. Olivia's taking care of it."

She raises an eyebrow at the bitter tone I can't suppress at Olivia's name, but thankfully doesn't comment. "Fine. Then get back to work."

_Yes, ma'am, _I don't say. I'm just grateful to have gotten off so easily. Turning on my heel, I all but run to my office.

I spend the next two days doing paperwork, trying to stay as far away from the precinct as I possibly can. I'm so glad that it's Friday, even though that means I'm going to have to spend a torturous dinner with my parents tomorrow.

Around 3:00, I hear a knock on my office door. Praying it's neither Olivia nor Liz, I call, "Come in."

Trepidation pits in my stomach when the door opens to reveal Elliot. "Alex," he says, all business, crossing over to my desk. "What's up with Liv?"

My stomach flips over, then jumps into my throat and attempts to strangle me. "I don't know."

He narrows his eyes. "She's barely said a word in three days. Other than me, you're the only other person who knows her so well – or cares about her so much," he adds on an afterthought.

I almost smile at his naïveté. "Well, I can't help you," I tell him, then add, "Sorry."

But he's not fooled. "What happened with the two of you?"

Trying not to betray my anxiety, I force myself to keep my tone level. "Nothing, Elliot. If something's wrong, you need to ask her, because I don't know."

"Okay," he says, his eyes still locked on mine, trying to read me. He isn't as good at it as Olivia. "I will."

_Great._

Luckily, it's the weekend, so I have two entire days before I have to face the music and the potential consequences of my actions. Still, I'm not sure exactly what I've done wrong. Olivia wanted that night just as much as I did – didn't she?

Saturday evening finds me suffering through another dinner with my parents. My mother's chattering on about a new dress she's just bought and I'm trying to focus on what she's saying. But honestly, what could be more frivolous? It never ceases to amaze me how she can talk for fifteen minutes about a stupid dress.

Finally, she takes a breath and my father jumps in. "So, Alex, how's Olivia doing?"

There is only one possible thing that could be worse than listening to my mother talk about her new dress, and that would be talking about Olivia. "She's fine," I reply curtly, hoping he'll get the picture and drop the subject.

The action isn't lost on my father, because he raises his eyebrows but immediately does so.

Dinner lasts forever and by the time it's over, I'm in such an emotional state of exhaustion that I can barely speak. All I want to do is collapse on my bed – or preferably in Olivia's arms, but I know that's not going to happen anytime soon.

I wish it would.

**Aw, poor Alex. **** Will things get better? Why is Olivia angry – or is she? Review to find out!**


	17. Chapter 17

**I know this one's crazy short, but I thought it didn't fit with the last chapter or the next one and I felt like leaving you with another evil cliffie. Duh duh duh!**

Monday morning finds me at the precinct, waiting to talk to Captain Cragen about a case, trying to calm my pounding heart. Just being here makes me nervous – being so close to Olivia, and yet so far.

It turns out that I don't have to worry long. My worst fears come to pass within minutes. At the sound of heavy, angry footsteps, I turn to see Olivia stalking toward me, her chocolate eyes flashing in fury. "What did you do?" she hisses.

_Well, so much for not talking to me. _But then it occurs to me that her silence might be better. "I don't know," I tell her, trying to keep my voice level. "What _did _I do?"

"Don't play games, Cabot," she growls. "Why did you tell Elliot?"

Wait a second . . . "I didn't tell him anything!"

"Elliot told me you –" Her expression changes from anger to disgust and she clenches her fists. "That son of a bitch!"

She starts to turn away, presumably to chew Elliot out, but I stop her with a soft, "Liv."

Maybe it's the nickname or maybe it's the gentle tone in which I've said it, but she turns back to me. Matching my quiet tone, she says, "Yeah?"

Suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I've ever felt in my life, I cross my arms over my chest as a shiver ripples through my body. "What did I do?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it, her chocolate eyes bottomless orbs of sadness. "Nothing," she whispers, and the choked-up quality of her voice surprises me. "I – you – nothing," she repeats, her voice breaking. Then she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving me to ponder what she means and moreover, what I can do about it.

**Hmm . . . so what's going on? Review to find out!**


	18. Chapter 18

I talk to Captain Cragen, and by the time we're done, it's nearly lunchtime. So I decide to take a chance. "Olivia," I call across the squad room. "Why don't we have lunch together?"

She looks around, clearly not wanting to but not knowing how to politely decline. So finally she says, "Okay. Just hold on a second."

I'm happy to stand there and wait as she tells something to Elliot, grabs her coat, and follows me out the door.

She doesn't say anything, and so I don't either until we're seated at our favorite café down the street. Then I brace myself, preparing to have my head bitten off. "Liv, what's wrong?"

Suddenly, she's very interested in her menu, even though we both have it memorized by now. "I don't want to talk," she says quietly.

"Okay," I tell her, wanting to make her feel at ease as much as possible. The way she's acting makes her seem so vulnerable and it hurts me to see her like this. "That's okay." This is for her comfort, although I want more than anything to know what I did wrong and how I can make it better.

She stares at her hands for a few moments, then looks back up, locking her chocolate eyes onto mine. I'm surprised to see tears brimming in those dark orbs, but I can tell she's going to reveal something profound, something she holds close to her heart, something that she finds difficult to say. So I don't say a word. Instead, I wait. And sure enough, the words come. "I was scared," she whimpers.

My heart shatters into tiny pieces at her words and I instinctively reach out to grasp her hand. I know it's hard for her to admit to being afraid of anything, but I have to know, and so I ask, "What were you scared of, Liv?"

"Being with you," she whispers, looking at the floor. "Loving you. Because you can't love me."

My heart breaks even further and I squeeze her hand tightly. "But, Olivia, I do."

She raises her eyes to meet mine again. "Alex, I don't – I can't – I –"

I can see that she's having trouble expressing her sentiments, but I understand anyway. "It's okay," I interrupt her reassuringly. "We can take it slow." Seeing her hesitation, I add, "Or if you'd prefer, we can not take it at all, but –"

"No, no," she cuts in. "I do. I – I love you, Alex. I'm just . . ." She looks at the ground.

"You're allowed to be scared sometimes," I tell her quietly. "Everyone gets scared sometimes. You're not superhuman."

She ducks her head. I know it's hard for her to admit to things like fear because she feels like she should be above it. She thinks that since she's a police officer, she should always be the bravest and the strongest. She thinks she needs to be fearless.

The waitress comes over to our table and asks if we're ready to order. We both tell her what we want and when she leaves, Olivia rests her chin in her hands and locks her deep chocolate eyes onto mine. "It's hard for me," she admits.

"I know. And we can take it as slow as you want to. You can call the shots, Liv."

She gives me a lopsided grin as if I've just handed her the world on a silver platter. And maybe, in a roundabout way, I have.

**Review for the final chapter!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Here's the last chapter. Enjoy!**

We're lying in bed together two months later, Olivia's head resting on my shoulder as she sleeps. Her even breathing on the pillow beside me makes me feel safe. I still can't believe that this is real, that Olivia's really here with me, that it's not just a wonderful, wonderful dream.

She cries sometimes, in her sleep. She has nightmares and wakes up screaming, thrashing at invisible demons, begging someone that I can't see not to hurt her. She never tells me about these dreams, but I can guess what they come from. I'm just glad that I'm there to comfort her after, soothing away her tears with gentle kisses. It was hard the first time – she didn't want me to see her like that. But she trusts me now. And I'm glad.

This Saturday, I'm going to tell my parents that we're together. She's been to see them twice now, and we've met my father out for dinner once. My mother might not be too big on the idea at first, but I love Olivia, and nothing's going to stop us from being together. Not even my parents.

I feel Olivia start to stir and I freeze, hoping it's not another nightmare. But it's not. She sighs deeply and rolls over. Without opening her eyes, she murmurs, "I love you, Alex."

My heart soars. _She loves me. _"I love you, too, Liv," I whisper, running a hand through her hair. "I love you, too."

**So that's the end. I hope you liked it! Review if you did.**


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